


no one wants to tell me.

by zonetested



Category: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 11:24:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zonetested/pseuds/zonetested
Summary: "how're you doing, really? no bullshit."





	no one wants to tell me.

**Author's Note:**

> in the comics the fabfour were supposedly15-17 so i figured i would write them being all... dumb and teen-like. uh, i haven't written anything in a long ass time and i had this beta'd by a few people, but if you notice errors, have constructive criticism or favorite parts comment below... thank you.

jet places a hand on poison's shoulder, careful and heavy, aiming to ground. the contact does the polar opposite, it zaps right through and sends shocks past pleather through skin into bone. poison shifts, going rigid with a sudden jolt. it's a surprise, the visible response.

"hey," he manages to keep his voice level. jet star is still reeling, still caught off guard and uncertain about what to do at this point. 

poison's made a flat line with his mouth like he needs to think about what to say like words are beyond him. hoarse, but fairly friendly. "hey."

it's tough trying to pal-around under all the weird tension, awkwardness all apparent. jet peels an arm off and away, jabbing it into poison's side. if the gesture's too much, hurts too hard, there's no hint. poison just kind of, half-smiles and shakes it away dismissively. he can't place where or why giddiness comes up, because poison makes a 'snrk' before laughing thickly. 

it's stuck in his throat, poison lurches forward a smidge while laughing like it'll help. jet just stares, just keeps being surprised when the most unpredictable man can't be read. party poison is a menace, an explosion you'll never expect, someone truly wild and forever fucked by the previously mentioned qualities. jet wonders idly, where this guy came from, what universe was his original, why he miraculously manifested in the zones all shiny. he blinks as the laughter tapers, lungs weak.

poison's voice is readjusting, seeming to have gone funny while laughing without stopping to breathe. he breaks away from jet, hands coming close while still being twitchy-remnants of the shaking. jet feels like he's going to fall off the side of the earth, he spits it out. it comes out casual, somehow, because that's all his voice can ever drop to. "how're you doing, really? no bullshit."

jet frowns instinctively once poison does, unsure what other expression he should go for. and he wants to reach out, soothe the sting, but can't. he wants to break down all the barriers, work away all the walls and be close- closer, join his set of ribs, protect poison's heart. the thing is: he knows how poison can be, afraid of emotional-action and forever fearing failure. he knows, he knows, he knows, but.

backpedaling, "you don't have to tell me, you know. it's just we're a team, we're your friends." he can't stop talking, stifling a disappointed-in-himself noise. "we're here for you, and whatever, is what i meant." 

"i know," poison picks at something unidentifiable, chips off dried mystery substance that could very well be blood. it looks pretty sunken in, forever caught in fabric. frustrated, tilting his head to knock the thought loose. "i want to, it's just... words, man."

jet understands that at least. "right." he nods, minimalizing the babble. he wants to fire off guesses, shoot questions like he shoots his gun and hope to hit. not that he's aiming to kill, he just wants to know what's really going inside poison's head, let his emotions bleed freely. he wants to help.

shrugging his shoulders, "i don't know, i'm just thinking." 

"about?" jet wants to know, he's dying to know anything. insistent, "about what?"

poison won't even look at him, twisting a stray string between his fingers. "nothing, just thinking ...about thinking, and how it sort-of kinda blows. like, just having a head hurts. and i don't mean zone smart thinking, survival thinking, i mean like, just, thinking about how to feel rather than what to do." 

jet feels just as disjointed as poison does, or he thinks so. he grunts to himself, pulling back and readying to be closed off. jet reaches out this time, for real. placing a hand on poison's squeezing for a second- feeling resistance, feeling human under the glove. the feeling's fleeting as he holds on tight. deja vu, poison freezes just like before, tense but not turning away. 

he isn't party poison's keeper, counselor, and he doesn't mean to pry, but. "why?"

"why what?"

"why what?" jet keeps at it. "why, do you feel like, that way?" 

poison points his boot into the dust, trying to find distraction, moving dirt and desert around. he doesn't know if it's the chill creeping without the sun or if it's the conversation, but he shivers. bratty and defensive, "i don't know, i'm not the expert on this."

"um," he sniffs. squinting, at the dust being kicked up. jet motions with his free hand, absent-minded. "well, i'm not either, but... i just want to understand, like, you know?"

a pause, as a gust runs towards them. they both grimace, holding tight to their breaths. the stale air and mess of dust pass, pouring past their bodies and the station. it settles and they sputter, spitting whatever specks of sand met their faces. poison’s face scrunches up, sticking his tongue out before turning to spit into the floor.

he stands, and jet watches with a hand still holding. poison moves to swipe the dust off his pants, shifting then pausing, looking to where he’s still being held. letting his grip fall away, jet breathes out an apology, drawing back. he stands too.

they’re both standing now, his hands feels clammy underneath the gloves and poison wants to peel the feeling away. there’s something crawling the back of his neck, something he wants to pick away to busy his hands. 

“it’s,” poison swats at the empty air, trying to flick the feeling out, knock away the awkward blocks that had been building up. he fumbles, words caught on each other. “you know, it’s.. i’m not, i mean, like. like, it’s just so...”

jet just listens, hands tucked into his pockets to starve off reaching out. he offers a “mm,” and an “mhmm.”

“ _so,_ ” he emphasizes, keeps gesturing in the air like it’ll pull the plug on this conversation faster. poison looks miserable, fingers closing tightly together, creating a fist. he rolls his wrist, like he’s trying to work out a tweak. “uhm, you know. it’s not a big deal, star.”

and jet doesn’t know what to say, what that’s even replying to. voice going funny, “it’s… okay, and you know, like… thinking of it as no big deal- that, i get kinda. but, again, we’re here for you.” he tries not to stare, pulling a hand from his pocket, placing hair behind his ear. stuck in his head.

“yeah,” poison carefully exhales. he raises a hand to scratch the back of his neck, feeling where his hair has grown too long. “i’ll, yeah, you… i’ll totally keep that in mind, for next time. i trust you, really.”

it’s a surprise, stunning the both of them. there’s a pause.

they both go to speak, overlapping at first. poison, despite having looked disturbed, half-smiles and jet just blinks before schooling his face again. and poison looks at jet with a sudden fondness, combatting the intense and serious stare. uncertainty is still riding his ass, but he manages a heartfelt-sounding. “thanks, thank you.”

the softness in his tone, so fragile and vulnerable, finally sincere. jet almost chokes, because really, poison will always be unpredictable to him. and he wants to save this moment forever, bottle it up and keep it close to his chest, he wants to take poison’s hand and never let go. though it’s the smallest wall being put aside, it’s everything, it’s a start.


End file.
